Tuesday, December 27, 2011

My Willing Suspension of Disbelief is Suspended

Well, it has finally happened. I, a huge fan of fantasy fiction, have been broken. My willing suspension of disbelief (with apologies to Coleridge) has been indefinitely suspended… can you believe it?

Saddest of all, it was a pair of former favorites who killed it… and neither are fantasy authors.

But I have to be honest, this is getting rampant. There is a epidemic of bad writing plaguing me like a rare avian flu transmitted by the saliva of the petit north american pug finch.

No… no… old stand-by authors are phoning it in and the line is fraught with static.

Survivors of century upon century of betrayal and torture—immortal warriors who have been trained to accept unimaginable pain—fall in love and learn to trust nearly immediately with absolutely no reason to do so. Sure. K. Oh, and no backstory? Right. Oh, and an abrupt, vague ending? Excellent.

Regency rake with a full stable lifts a woman carrying an infant onto his horse to share the ride back to her place rather than putting her on another mount, or—in a jarring moment of historical accuracy and, well, fucking LOGIC—a carriage-type device of some sort… and in spite of the biting December cold, their lack of familiarity, and—erm—an infant—becomes instantly aroused and defies gravity and physics with a saddleback triple-balancer erection. Seriously? Ringling Brothers would kill for that act.

Grey eyes with emerald highlights? I want to see the wallpaper in your guest bathroom. No, I’m not shitting you. Can I come by later? I’ll bring donuts.

An ancient god who has not walked the earth or had access to any electronic media using current American cultural slang, operating a laptop without being able to read modern language or having ever seen one? Sure. Same guy has a modern shower and all the best goodies in his private chamber just off the torture wing, where he is a slave? EXCELLENT! Hey, I know another writer who is inviting me over to see her guest bathroom… you two should hook up!

Last week I read a BEST SELLING author out of a NY publisher… who made direct reference to growing roses from rose seeds.

I give up. PRESS PLAY

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